


Love All Lovely

by shealwaysreads (onereader)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 25 Days of Harry and Draco 2020, Advent Fic, Early Bird 25 Days of Harry and Draco 2020, Expensive Perfume, Harry Potter Deserves Nice Things, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Mistletoe, Primrose the Pug, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Winter Solstice, Yule log, a little bit of epistolary flirting, a prickly rosebush of friends, an excess of Christmas lights, background Theo/Neville, background pansy/ginny, its snowing and we’re happy about it, lots of champagne, mulled wine anyone?, open fires and hot chocolate, read when you need a gentle landing, soft advent, soft-glow, we are hitting all the Christmas tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 19,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27819175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader/pseuds/shealwaysreads
Summary: Draco comes home for Christmas, and discovers that sharing is the best way of celebrating old traditions, and new ones too.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 475
Kudos: 239
Collections: 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020





	1. 1st December

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, and will post daily up to and including Christmas Day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

It had snowed overnight, as it always did on the last night of November. Whatever the weather was beyond the boundaries of the Malfoy estate, soft flakes would begin to fall as December arrived, every year, without fail. It was the same old magic that guaranteed fine summers for the kitchen garden and the crops on the further reaches of the land, and crisp winds in the autumn to carry away dead leaves. December came, accompanied by snow and ice, and with them the Fȳr finches; vibrant red birds with dark eyes and a voracious appetite for winter-ripened snowberries and the dusty red fruits dotting the yew trees. 

Draco had watched, eagle-eyed, for them as a child; their arrival was the first sign of winter. His first sight of the jewel-bright colour in the garden was always a cause for excitement, they heralded the festive season, the coming of Yule. His adolescence might have been a tangled mess of poor choices and worse mistakes, but his childhood had been sweet. He had grown up adored, cosseted and cared-for. He would have his house-elf Marigold dress him in his warmest clothes, and march himself into the garden as soon as the first snowflake fell, then wander until he had spotted that flutter of red amidst the muffling white and dark evergreen. As soon as he caught sight of one of the finches, he would run back to the house, trailing snow-wet footprints and a grumbling house-elf behind him, until he reached his mother and announced his discovery. Always, she would question him; she would ask him to describe the bird, was he _sure_ it wasn’t just a robin redbreast. 

When she was satisfied, she would sit him next to her on the loveseat and take a pomegranate from the towering display on the side-table—they always appeared at the same time as the snow and the Fȳr finches. When his mother cut it open it was the beginning of winter in miniature; soft-white pith and delicate ruby beads. She would eat the jewel-like flesh with a golden pin. He would pick at the fruit with small fingers while she watched with a tolerant smile, and he’d bear the scolding for his stained hands and mouth from his governess afterwards with satisfaction. 

Hogwarts was ten years behind him now, and with it the war, and his childhood, too. It had been long enough that Draco could now allow himself to take pleasure in the traditions of his childhood again, to remember with a fondness untarnished by the rosy-tint of self-denial. He could navigate deftly around the knowledge of his parent’s failures—and his own—and was well practiced at heaving himself out of the quicksand of regret. 

But this was the first time he had been at the Manor for the first day of December in years. He had started flitting south for the winter when Blaise studied at the Academy of Ancient Arts in Egypt when they were twenty, and then kept the habit. But Pansy had wheedled and cajoled for the entirety of their summer turn on the _Côte d’Azur_ , and he had agreed to come home for the entirety of December— _”New Year’s too, darling”_ —so now he stood at the wide mullioned windows in the blue parlour like he had as a little boy, and watched as a pair of Fȳr finches busied themselves on the snowberry bush in the wide herbaceous border just outside.

It had been a long time since his fingers were stained with fruit, but he picked out a pomegranate from the sideboard anyway. He copied his mother’s _Segmentum_ spell and, just like when he was a child, the peel split away into star-shaped petals, revealing the glassy red pearls of flesh within. He broke off a few—fingers no longer small enough to select each bead one at a time—and brought them to his mouth. They burst under the pressure of teeth and tongue, sweet and redolent with nostalgia, he chewed and the sweetness gave way to the bitter tang of the seeds. 

The snow fell softly onto the gardens and grounds, and Draco ate his pomegranate, and was glad for it all; glad for the memories, glad for being here for this moment, glad for the bitter understanding of life, and glad for the sweetness of it, too.


	2. 2nd December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy, chocolate, and gossip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, and will post daily up to and including Christmas Day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

“ _What_ is that?”

Pansy snorted inelegantly and opened her front door properly to allow him inside. “Do come in, Draco; make yourself at home, Draco; feel free to insult my dog, Draco.”

It had been four months since he’d last seen Pansy, and like usual, it felt like mere moments. There was never any great sentimental greeting between them; just a continuation of conversation that had simply been on pause while they were apart. They hadn’t bothered with niceties since they were about eight, and their friendship remained one of the great constants of Draco’s life. When Pansy wasn’t being utterly facetious he was even sometimes glad of it.

“Your dog. When did you get it, then?” Draco directed his question to the back of Pansy’s head as she swanned off, leaving him to close the door himself while juggling the green striped bags full of sweet offerings from her favourite Italian deli in London.

“I didn’t ‘get’ her, I _rescued_ her, you bastard—have you heard of Battersea?” She disappeared with a flutter of silk dressing-gown. “Oh, be a doll and put the tea together,” she called from the direction of her bedroom. “I need to get dressed.”

Draco rolled his eyes, safe from Pansy’s glare—who was still knocking around in their pyjamas at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday, for Merlin’s sake?—and set about finding the good tea while snooping around her flat. He cast the usual charms on the kettle and the cups, then laid out his new discovery—a rich and unctuous brownie studded with Baci, sweet Italian hazelnut kisses. He carried it into the living room and sat, cataloguing the space. There was a small dog bed next to the sofa, filled with a cosy sheepskin lining and about half a dozen well-chewed toys. There was also a neatly folded blue jumper slung over the back of the armchair; it bore a striking resemblance to the Holyhead Harpies strip.

Perfectly timed, as always, Pansy swept back into the living room just as the teapot began to pour two perfectly brewed cups. She was dressed in soft-looking grey, all cashmere no doubt, and the small dog was still tucked neatly under one arm—the pair of them perfectly matched the white and cream decor Pansy had surrounded herself with. Her home was about as far from the medieval weight and darkness of Parkinson Priory as it was possible to get. 

“So, you got a dog?”

Pansy grinned and settled next to him on the sofa, while said dog curled up next to her. “This is Primrose.”

“Primrose.”

“Yes, well, had to carry on the family tradition—didn’t I? It’s not like Mummy is going to be getting any grandchildren out of me, so this is the best I can muster I’m afraid. You ought to get one too, it’ll settle Narcissa down, I’m sure.”

Draco raised an eyebrow but conceded the point, she certainly wasn’t wrong. “But why _this_ dog, Pansy, really?”

Primrose had a rotund little body, an acutely curled tail, and a face that looked like she had run full-tilt into a wall. 

Pansy stroked Primrose behind one floppy ear, prompting a happy grunting from the dog. “Because there's always room for one more pug-nosed bitch in the world, Draco. Now put her jumper on for me.”

“I didn’t come here to dress up your dog, Pansy. I came to feed you cake and to be served gossip in return.” Draco cut a generously un-chic wedge of brownie, placed it on a sideplate, and presented it with a flourish to her. “Here’s the cake, now you do your bit.”

She raised the plate to her face and inhaled, a beatific expression on her face. “Fucking hell, that smells good. Did I spy some good old Lina green and white when you came in?”

“Yes, you did. Now spill your guts, what’s been going on since I was last in London?” He glanced very deliberately at the staged jumper on the armchair. “Clearly you’ve been a busy girl.”

Pansy’s eyes glowed as she smiled, an actual smile—no smirk or sneer—and Draco knew his suspicions were correct. There was something lean, freckled, and ginger in Pansy’s life—and it must be more than a fleeting entertainment for her to have that look on her face. It had been two years since she and Lisa had broken up for good, and while she had made the most of the single life—after the cataclysmic emotional breakdown in the wake of The Affair—Draco knew that it didn’t really suit her. Despite her determined efforts to appear the opposite, Pansy was fiercely loyal and needed nothing more than someone to return that loyalty. 

“I have, actually. I didn’t say anything by letter because… Well. Now’s the right time, anyway. I went with Millie to a game—you know how she is about Puddlemere—and then we just happened to bump into Ginny and Cho at a bar that night; they were celebrating.”

Draco sipped his tea and eyed Pansy over the rim of his cup. “And?”

“And Ginny asked me to dinner the following night, and it’s all a bit bloody brilliant, alright? What do you want, details?”

“I mean, ordinarily, yes, but in this case…” He shot Pansy a smirk, but relented quickly at the first sign of a frown; he’d waited a long time for her to have that smile again, it wouldn’t do to be the one to naysay her new happiness. “Details aside, are things good? Is she the genesis of this dog rescuing operation?”

“It is good, she’s… She’s a match for me. And no—Primrose was my idea, _actually_. And you still need to put her jumper on for her, she gets terribly chilly with that short fur of hers.”

Draco eyed the rolls of excess skin at Primrose’s shoulders, she hardly looked in need of additional warmth; but then Pansy was shoving a dark red wad of pug-sized knitwear into his hands.

“No.”

Pansy cackled, and held the dog out towards him. “Yes. Go on, I need you to mind her for me tomorrow, so you’d better have a practice run wrestling her into it now, with me here, to save you making a mess of her tomorrow.”

“I’ve never ‘minded’ a dog in my life, Pansy, surely you can get someone else to do it—what about Ginny? Surely significant others have these sorts of responsibilities.” Despite himself, Draco already had the ridiculous jumper over Primrose’s little head; she squirmed as he worked on getting her legs through the holes.

“I’m going to be out _with_ Ginny, darling, I’m taking her to meet Mummy.”

Primrose had one leg sticking awkwardly out of her jumper, and was already panting, and Draco just stared at Pansy. “Oh.” 

“Quite.”

“You never took Lisa to the old place, did you?” It had been a sticking point with Turpin, not being a ‘real’ part of Pansy’s life.

She looked down for a moment, her lashes a dark sweep on pale skin, before meeting his gaze head-on. “Well, I’m trying not to repeat old mistakes. Best to know now if I’m to be cut off and need to find a job at this stage, rather than later.”

“You’re serious, then?”

“Very. You know back in school I was too—I wasn’t—well, I never would have allowed myself, anyway, would I?” She had that determined look in her eye she always got when she was defending him, or working out how to ruin her mother’s social machinations. “You ought to take a leaf out of my book, actually, now you’re home. You’re older and wiser—slightly—and things are different now.”

He knew exactly what she meant. Who she meant. 

“I think me agreeing to take care of Primrose for the day should be quite enough of a ‘new leaf’ for you, no?”

Pansy shot him an arch look. “It’ll do. Be here for ten tomorrow. And bring some Moët to the party on Saturday.”

“I’ll bring you a bloody box if you just leave well alone.”

“I make no promises, darling, now eat some brownie, and I’ll tell you all about Marcus bloody Warrington and _Oliver Wood_ of all people!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt E!](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769766249889529876/unknown.png)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	3. 3rd December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow in London, and an unexpected reconnection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, and will post daily up to and including Christmas Day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

London was white. Its usual clamour and the stink of car exhausts were smothered by the delicate weight of snow.

Every Muggle Draco passed on the street was talking about it, whether with child-like excitement or the resigned discomfort of those doomed to walk miles in freshly polished brogues. All of them remarked on the rarity of snow in December, all of them looked up at the bright blue sky and wondered where it had come from.

Draco was deeply suspicious of the ‘magical’ winter snowfall, but at least he was comfortable and warm—all of _his_ winter boots were charmed against the weather. So was Primrose’s tiny tweed coat; Harris tweed, no less. Pansy had already bundled the little dog up by the time Draco arrived at her flat, and she’d had that pinched expression she always got when she was visiting her parents. Draco heard movement in the flat; Ginny must have already arrived, so he had just taken the lead and dropped a kiss on Pansy’s pale cheek before he left her to it. 

Primrose was surprisingly well-behaved, considering her owner, which Draco ascribed entirely to whoever had first owned her—Pansy couldn’t have trained a Pygmy Puff. She didn’t seem bothered by the cold at all; in fact, she rooted her squashed little snout down into the snow to sniff and snort into the pavement. Draco had promised to give Primrose a proper walk before he went home with her, so he followed her nose-focused amble until they were on the wide path of the South Bank. Here the snow had plenty of footprints in it, but it had resisted the fall into grey slush that blighted the rest of the pavements. It was well past rush-hour so the roads were quiet, and the strange hush of snowfall made even the old rushing heart of London feel still and peaceful. 

Peaceful, that is, until Draco caught the unmistakable crack of Apparition and spotted a dark-haired man stepping out from behind a bare-branched plane tree. Primrose snorted beside him, her tail wagging so hard her whole body jiggled on the end of the lead, and then she started barking madly and tugging towards the new arrival. He was tall, and broad, and his grin was visible even at a distance as he started jogging toward Draco, already half-crouched and reaching for Primrose.

Draco swallowed, hard. He should have known not to trust his luck in London, he should have known as soon as he saw that tangled mess of curls. It was Potter, and his smile was utterly unguarded as he scratched Primrose behind the ears, nearly on his knees in the snow to pet a dog he ought not to even know.

“I didn’t know Primrose had a dog-walker, I’d have—” Potter looked up, and clearly registered for the first time exactly who was holding the charming little red leather lead attached to the dog. His smile froze, suddenly fragile-looking. “Draco.”

There had been a moment. A _moment_ in that repeated seventh year at Hogwarts. A battered group of almost-adults, the walking wounded who had survived—somehow—and gathered to try and reclaim the remnants of their youth. There had been silence, and shouting, and surprising connections—Granger turned out to be the best study partner Draco had ever had. There had been Potter with shadowed eyes and an insistence on first names, with warm hands and a frightening capacity for understanding. Then there had been a letter from Lawrence Greengrass, and once again Lucius’ plans crept, snake-like, into Draco’s life. The moment had passed, unseized.

“Potter.” Green eyes sharpened, and Draco felt like an awkward teenager all over again. “Harry. I’m on Primrose duty; I didn’t know you were familiar with Pansy’s newest dote?”

Potter stood and shrugged, the old familiar roll of his shoulders altogether new in this adult frame he had grown into. “Well, since she and Gin started up we’ve all sort of gotten a bit used to each other.”

“Ah. Well, lovely.”

“It’s alright, reminds me a bit of that last year at Hogwarts. Everyone mucking in together. Ginny’s about as ready to take any nonsense as McGonagall was.”

“That’ll serve her well today.” 

“Oh, she’s up to the challenge, I heard all about Pansy’s parents. I’m sure she’ll win them over.”

Draco hummed, noncommittal; he didn’t know Ginny well enough to agree or disagree. Small talk. They were making small-talk over a fucking pug. He’d thought that being this close to thirty would mean he’d be immune to the kind of discomfort that bumping into an old _almost_ would provoke in mere mortals. But no—here he was utterly desperate to pry, to dig, and question, and invite, and all he could do was _hum_.

“I heard—”

“What are you—”

Potter flushed, and Draco could feel heat in his own cheeks so he nodded, encouraging Potter to continue.

“I, er, I heard a couple of years ago about you and Astoria… the engagement was annulled, right?” He was really blushing now, and no wonder; Draco wasn’t sure anyone but Potter would have had the sheer brass neck to bring up _that_ particular elephant in the room. “I was surprised that it—that you— “

Draco sighed, and gave up on any semblance of this being a polite conversation. Harry had never had the capacity for that kind of dissembling. 

“It took me a while, rather shameful really.” It took until his father was in the ground, but Potter knew that, knew what a coward Draco was. “But I finally stood my ground—better late than never—and made it clear that I think children should be born out of love, not obligation.”

There was something refreshing about spilling his guts right here on a snowy London pavement; it made the prospect of inevitably needing to Vanish dog excrement that much less daunting. Potter, however, looked like he genuinely approved, and Draco could have Crucioed himself for the immediate swell of warmth that unfurled in his chest at the sight.

“That’s great—I mean, not great. It’s good.” Potter was as eloquent as ever, and it was still charming. “It’s not good, obviously, that it didn’t work out—but it’s good you felt ready to, you know, say how you felt.”

Draco wasn’t quite ready to reply to a statement like that, not when he couldn’t trust himself to say something sensible and unsentimental, so he indulged in cowardice once again.

“I was going to ask, what brought you here?” 

Draco grit his teeth. Unbelievable; less than five minutes in Potter’s company and he had been reduced to _do you come here often?_

“Oh! Well, it’s the snow.”

“The snow.”

“Yep.” Harry popped the ‘p’ with a grin. “The team in charge of the weather spells for the Diagon shopping district properly ballsed it up—I think they’ve got a new apprentice on the team, bit overenthusiastic—the _Nivem_ charm went all over the shop. Hence, this.” He gestured at the snow all around them. 

“You fix this sort of thing, then?” The last Draco knew, Harry had planned on joining the Aurors; he had started training before Draco left on his first trip overseas, his first escape.

Harry nodded. “I do. Ended up doing a bit of Curse-Breaking, a bit of Ward work. You’re looking at the Warden of Wizarding London—nice title for general dogsbody.”

It sounded nothing like dogsbody work; it sounded like constant problem-solving, and clever magic. It sounded like looking after people, without having to duel anyone in the process. It sounded perfect for Harry.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you today then.”

Harry nodded, no less cheerful at the prospect of tackling the London-sized meteorological disaster. “Well, honestly, I might leave it for a while—people like snow, don’t they?” 

“You—” Draco paused, looked around, and noticed the Muggles looking around them at the glittering white with smiles in their eyes. “You should definitely leave it a while. It makes the place look prettier, doesn’t it?”

He looked back to Harry, and was caught by the expression he found there, something half-remembered.

“It does,” Harry replied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt A!](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769765948629581834/unknown.png)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	4. 4th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk in Diagon Alley, and a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, and will post daily up to and including Christmas Day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

Diagon Alley was just as crooked and busy as Draco remembered it being when he was a child; they had rebuilt it brick-by-brick just the same as it had been before the war. The cobblestones outside the Apothecary still wobbled, and children still left smudged nose-prints on the Quality Quidditch Supplies window—the Dragons Breath 200 had launched in the middle of November and the hype had yet to die down. Unlike Muggle London, the seasonal dusting of snow was fully expected here and the air hummed with Warming Charms and the clouds of excited breath and chatter of families shopping for Yule and Christmas. Draco hadn’t spent much time in London since he’d started travelling; at first out of fear, then shame, then regret. But snow-gilt Diagon was still so familiar it brought an ache to his chest, an uncomfortable contentment. 

He’d been unsettled since the first sight of Potter’s face yesterday, off-kilter and unsure of himself. Of course, the first thing he’d done after he’d left Potter by the side of the Thames—a struggle, fighting against the insistent pull of Primrose right back to him—had been to check the destinations available on the International Portkey schedule. But then he’d Apparated back to Pansy’s after supper to drop Primrose off, and had found her puffy-eyed and wobbly-lipped, and Ginny had patted him on the arm and given him a nod as he wrapped Pansy up in a firm embrace. She didn’t cry, just sighed, and said it went better than she’d expected—her mother had at least approved of the fact that Ginny was a pureblood. “I’m fine,” she’d said, her voice nasal and congested from tears, “I’m _fine_.” She was absolutely not fine, and she was his best friend; so Draco had shelved any notion of Portkeying off to Copenhagen or Seville, and resolved himself to behave like an adult.

Adults did things like buy gifts for their friends and decorate the house. Draco’s mother had left the Manor to the care of the house-elves after his father died and spent the last few years in the isolated French estate that had been her dowry, which had reverted to her ownership as soon as she was a widow. Draco sent her letters, but didn’t visit often; there was his father’s shadow and a war between them, a gap too far to bridge. But now that he was doomed to hold to his promise of staying at home until the new year, or else bear the shame of abandoning Pansy, Draco was determined to make at least the small corner of the house he was using feel festive. The house-elves had provided the platter of pomegranates on the first of the month but had been awaiting instruction for the rest. So he had announced that he was staying for Christmas, and when he had left for Diagon, they had been busily draping the sitting room fireplace in freshly woven garlands of holly leaves. 

There would be no grand festivities like his mother used to host, but the scent of evergreen over the crackling fire had soothed something young and homesick inside of Draco. The sight of Diagon gearing up for Christmas made him feel the same way, it lit a flicker of excitement in his belly, and despite the looming threat of bumping into Potter—this was his place of work now, of course—Draco couldn’t help but smile as he weaved his way through the crowds. 

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was enormous, and bright, and currently sending up great sparks of red and green snowflakes from the _4th of Christmas_ sign that was spinning just above head height at the entrance. There was a surreal display in the front window, full of zebra-striped reindeer, floating christmas trees, and little Father Christmases all running around doing handstands. Draco couldn’t help but smile, but he hurried past anyway; Ginny might be making an effort to be friendly to him for Pansy’s sake but he didn’t expect the same tolerance from the remaining twin. 

Despite the snow on the ground, Fortescue’s was open, and Draco had never been able to resist something sweet, so he ducked in. Immediately the scent of sugar and vanilla swept over him. The coolness of the display counter bit at his fingers as he trailed them over the glass, reading the labels on each tub of perfectly churned ice cream in a slow and steady ritual he had begun as a child. Snap-dragon Brandy-butter was the new seasonal flavour, and it steamed and shone with the flicker of flambé. Draco ordered a tub, and the first mouthful was all sharp, fruity brandy and heavy cream, flaming hot and icy-cold swirled together on his tongue, and he grinned at the simple magic of it. 

He left the sweet safe-haven of Fortescue’s and wandered aimlessly down to the new market square that had been built at the intersection of the extended wizarding quarter; Diurn Alley and Vertic Alley were full of new shops and businesses, restaurants and pubs. He had planned to shop for presents but was content to simply walk and people-watch. There was plenty of time before Christmas to make sure he had something for everyone. Draco’s fiery ice cream steamed in the cold, and sunlight glinted on the snow, and through the throngs of witches and wizards filling the square he caught sight of dark curls and the sharp angled jaw of a familiar face. For a moment—heart in his throat—he thought about turning and hurrying away. But then Potter turned and saw him, and he smiled, and all Draco could do was smile back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt Y](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769767850549706772/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	5. 5th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penhaligon’s perfumes, presents, and pedestrian collisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, and will post daily up to and including Christmas Day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

Regent Street was as grandly sweeping and cash-scented as ever, and busier than usual with Christmas on the horizon. Draco had discovered this area of Muggle London during the summer after he left Hogwarts for good; Blaise had been shagging a bloke with a Muggle dad, so he had dragged Draco along on trips once he’d discovered the joys of Liberty and Belstaff and an American Express Centurion credit card.

Blaise had since moved on to academia and philosophy—he was currently halfway through a year-long experimentation with intentional celibacy—but Draco still slipped into Muggle London to indulge in his favourite shops whenever he was home. Usually the Christmas decorations in the high-end boutiques that graced this old regency crescent erred on the side of sumptuous, artistic elegance, but this year there was a distinct rainbow theme to every single display. Perhaps it was a Muggle trend, but Draco vaguely missed the individual styles of each shop; half the fun of coming here was seeing the ways that clever designers created glittering, stage-lit magic behind glass. There was a certain charm to the prism of colour, though; it reminded him of the kaleidoscope he had played with as a child, which showed the swirling patterns of magic when he pointed it at the spelled toys he had, or at his mother when she cast. 

Penhaligons was his destination for the day. Draco had been utterly delighted the first time he discovered it; it looked just like the fine potions boutiques of Paris where you could buy anything from Polyjuice to Felix Felicis if you had enough gold in your account. Every bottle of perfume in this Muggle emporium was labelled in shining gold and delicately topped with ribbon. Draco had been wearing one of their scents every day for at least the last six years, and it was time to stock up. He waved off the approaching assistant; he didn’t need their help—he knew exactly where they kept the bottles of Endymion, and he just needed to indulge in a half an hour or so of judicious sniffing to find the perfect match for Pansy.

It didn’t take long before an elegant bottle—clear glass, spherical stopper, and dusky pink ribbon—spilled the scent he knew was just right. Jasmine, orange-blossom, and oud. It reminded him of that first winter in Egypt; the three of them, Pansy, Blaise, and himself, had visited ancient tombs and modern cafes and learned to be apart from their upbringing for the first time. It had been the first taste of freedom he and Pansy had savoured—Blaise had always been as wild and as wayward as his mother—and Draco knew she would remember the same soaring excitement of that trip at the first inhalation of the perfume, just like he had.

A handsome assistant neatly wrapped his purchases and presented them to him with a smile and what looked like a mobile number written on a gift card. Draco had no intention of calling, but he still graced him with a lazy once-over before turning to leave, carrying a ribbon-handle bag that felt entirely too small in comparison with the sheer simple pleasure he felt at its weight in his hand. He pushed his way out of the busy, perfumed bubble of Penhaligon's back onto the street, only to knock straight into a man striding past, hard enough that they both stumbled to catch their balance.

“Oh, I beg your pardon!” The words were out of his mouth before the broad shoulders and bright eyes registered with Draco’s brain.

“Draco?” Potter wasn’t wearing robes, just jeans and a dark wool coat, and he fitted in perfectly with the well-dressed Muggles passing them as they stood blocking the door to the shop. He was smiling, again, and it was just shy of overwhelming. Draco wasn’t sure if he was lucky or doomed. “Shopping outside of the Alleys, anything special?”

Draco lifted his bag. “One for me and one for Pansy. You?”

“Oh,” Potter shrugged. “Work—the rainbows. There’s an activist youth group that’s been doing some stunts like this for the last year, it’s all about raising awareness about queer rights and all that. Apparently they didn’t actually _mean_ for it to go London-wide but I reckon they might have been a bit inspired by the snow the other day.”

“The snow you left as it was?”

“Er, yeah.” 

“What about all this then, are you leaving it?”

Harry’s sheepish grin, as devastating now as it was when he was eighteen, brought to life the merest hint of crow’s feet at his eyes. “I’ll have to sort it. I got away with the snow but this has already been making the rounds on Facebook so… I came to check it out myself, and I’ll pop back tonight after everything has shut to set it all back to normal.”

“It’s a bit of a shame, really,” Draco looked around them, avoiding the way the glowing rainbow lights caught in Harry’s blue-black hair.

“Yeah, but Sandra—my assistant—she’s already setting up a website, we’re going to say it was ‘an anarchic aesthetic expression of the human right to love and be loved’ by an anonymous artist. Or at least, that’s what she told me.”

If it were anyone but Harry, Draco might think that this was all a set-up, a joke at Draco’s expense played out on a grand scale. But he was so thoroughly decent—not perfect, far from it, Draco knew that well enough—that he would never do a thing like that to Draco. Not back when they were still at Hogwarts, and not now they were grown men. He even still kept a respectful distance between them, despite Draco crashing into him. Draco had requested space when they were standing outside the Great Hall waiting to graduate Hogwarts ten years ago, and Potter still fucking honoured it, even though Draco wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted his demands ignored more than he did now. 

_The right to love and be loved_. You couldn’t make it up. Draco watched the shop display rainbows dance across Harry’s face, the most mundane of magic, and the weight that sat heavily on his chest felt like fear. Standing there, in front of him while he smiled, felt like the edge of a precipice. But it wouldn’t do to leap, or fall, or flinch right here on the street, so Draco dodged instead.

“Sandra sounds like a capable woman,” he said.

“Mmm. I’m going to be at Pansy’s tomorrow, by the way,” Potter replied. “Ginny’s invited Ron and Hermione too, and I reckon Cho will probably come as well. Don’t want you walking in not knowing.”

Pansy really _was_ serious about Ginny; it was one thing to take her home to her mother, but it was quite another mixing friend groups. That sort of thing was irreversible. Draco forced himself not to grit his teeth, unbearably grateful for the warning, and acutely aware that Potter knew exactly how uncomfortable Draco would have been to walk into that particular group without being able to work himself up to it. He had liked them, in the end. He had. But then he’d slipped away in the undertow of obligation and self-denial and those fragile connections they had carefully woven were lost. 

“At least I’ll have Primrose. Pansy will be too busy being the hostess with the most-ess to keep me entertained.” 

Self-deprecation was usually a safe harbour, but Draco had forgotten Harry’s penchant for earnestness.

“And you’ll have me,” he said, as if those weren’t the words that had rung in Draco’s ears since they were first offered to him a decade ago. “I’ll keep you company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt W](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/783148745826631690/3_rainbow_tree.jpg)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	6. 6th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Champagne and fairy lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, and will post daily up to and including Christmas Day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

“You absolute _darling!_ You _did_ bring the champers!” Pansy crowed as she divested Draco of the box of six bottles he had dutifully collected from the wine merchant. There was a vast cellar beneath the Manor—still full of rare vintages—but Draco had sealed the doors to the lower levels of the house with stone and mortar and magic as soon as his father had died, and he had no intention of ever opening them again.

He followed her to the kitchen, to find an absolute bomb-site of cocktail ingredients and boxes of snacks from Elfin Hand’s delivery service—it was one of the first house-elf owned businesses that had opened after the post-war reform period, and they made the absolute best _canapés_. “Of course I did, can’t drink whatever swill you’ve been cooking up in here—is that _advocaat_ I see there, it’s basically bloody custard!”

“Don’t be such a picky little brat, Draco, it’s festive and my cocktails are delicious.” She dropped the box of champagne on the side and pushed a tray of blinis topped with smoked salmon and caviar towards him. “Eat some miniature things, that always cheers you up, and then pop these bottles—you know I’ll only shriek if I do it.”

She was right, she would scream at the pop and possibly blast someone’s eye out with the cork like she had on New Year’s in Paris the year before, so Draco just bared his teeth at her. “Go on and look pretty then, you tart. I’ll play sommelier.”

Draco was only being half-helpful, the rest was self-serving; it wasn’t like him, but tonight he felt the need for the sense of security that came with hiding behind a bottle of something expensive and bubbly. He hadn’t seen any of these people in _years_ , and even though Harry had been friendly enough over the last week—more than, maybe—it didn’t mean that the rest would be so forgiving. A large glass of champagne should smooth any sharp social edges though, and once he’d given everyone a drink and done the obligatory _hello—you’re looking so well—it’s been too long—oh, me?—a bit of this and that—_ he could retreat to the balcony until Pansy noticed him being unacceptably antisocial.

Cho was easy enough, Terry Boot was at her side and they both looked rather handsome together; Draco handed them both a flute of champagne and smiled as they told him all about the new house they had bought. People liked to talk about themselves, Draco had learned—once he paused his own self-centred monologuing to listen—and it made this kind of aimless group socialising so much easier once he realised he had to just open the gate and let people lead themselves into a comfortable conversation about their own news. 

Draco made his way around Pansy’s flat like that, glasses floating at his elbow ready to be filled. It took two bottles of Moët to get to Hermione and Weasley, and he cursed himself for not drinking a glass or two himself in order to insulate against the ensuing awkwardness with the comforting warmth of sparkling bubbles and alcohol. He should have remembered that there wasn’t usually room for awkwardness with two people who truly didn’t give a toss about social niceties.

“Draco,” Hermione took her glass from him and kissed both of his cheeks talking briskly all the while, “how are you? Have you decided to move back properly? I didn’t know if you’d come tonight, what with us all being here, and Harry too—”

Weasley stopped the flow of words with an arm wrapped gently over her shoulders. “Hermione, take a breath. I’m sure he’d be happy to answer any _one_ of those questions if you just gave him half a second, wouldn’t you, Malfoy?”

You couldn’t call it an elephant in the room when it was being given quite so much attention, but Draco couldn’t fault them—he had rather made a dog's dinner of it when he’d decided that the day before they all graduated from Hogwarts was the perfect moment to dramatically announce he was going to get married to Astoria Greengrass which meant he had to cut ties with ‘his old life’. He had been a tiresome teenager, perhaps it was the Black genes; they had always been a highly strung family. Still, it was a relief in some ways, this forthright acknowledgement of his absence, and his return.

“I’m well, Hermione, thank you.” He paused, not sure how to answer the rest. He had only planned to be back for Christmas, for Pansy. “I’ll admit I was a little anxious, but,” he waggled the bottle of champagne in his hand, “this eases it a little. And Harry had pre-warned me, so no ambush.”

“Oh, did he?” Weasley’s eyes sharpened. “That was thoughtful of him.”

Draco had forgotten how perceptive Weasley was, it felt like he’d just revealed something far more meaningful than the happenstance of two unexpected meetings with Harry in snowy London streets. 

“Yes, it was—he was working in the area, as I understand it. And you? How are you both?”

“We’re good, Draco. Two kids, Rose and Hugo, you’d like them—Andromeda told us how good you were with Teddy when he was little.” Hermione smiled, as if she hadn’t just pulled the rug out from underneath him—two children, they had _two children_ —and sipped her champagne.

“Look, Malfoy, as nice as this is, Harry’s out on the balcony so…” Weasley shrugged. “You might want to just head in that direction.”

“I—alright then, I’ll just—”

Hermione pushed him away, gently. “We can catch up properly later, Draco, or maybe during the week—I heard about that consult you did at St Mungo’s in March, I’d love to get some details on that use of lacewing flies in the potion you ended up with.” 

Summarily dismissed, Draco turned and took a deep breath before he braved the sliding glass doors leading to Pansy’s balcony. It was currently swathed in a frankly staggering amount of fairy lights, and there in the corner stood Harry, unacceptably inviting and warm under the golden glow surrounding him.

“Draco, hi. I wondered how long it would take for you to get round everyone and escape out here.”

“I’m not escaping, Granger sent me.”

“Well. In that case you’re in good company, Ron suggested I take a breather out here as well. Funny that.” Harry leaned against the light-strewn balustrade and looked out at the view of the Thames with a smile. “I’m glad you came, I did _think_ you would, but—well—I’m pleased you’re here.“

Draco had wondered for a long time when his fate would catch up with him; there were stories of a witch or wizard’s doom waiting for them, patient and enduring, inescapable. Draco had always assumed his own fate would be dark and well-deserved. But maybe it was this. Maybe it was Potter, who would stand strong, and determined, and smiling for longer than Draco’s self-defeating instinct to run could hold out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt T](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769767472517087252/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	7. 7th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Invitations and the warmth of mulled wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, and will post daily up to and including Christmas Day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

“Draco, are you in here? I brought Theo with me!” 

Of course she had brought Theo. Pansy had never had much of a problem treating Draco’s home like her own. When they were little, she’d invited Daphne Greengrass to his ninth birthday party, despite the fact that girl had dropped frogspawn into his pudding at the spring equinox party his mother had hosted—the grudge for which he still carried. But it was nice to know some things really did never change. Draco hadn’t seen Theo for a while, since he’d properly shacked up with Longbottom; he spent the summers off gallivanting after rare plants with him now, rather than eyeing shapely arses on the beach with Draco and Pansy. Draco could hear Pansy murmuring to him through the door and readied himself for the inevitable questions before throwing open the door.

“Come in then, both of you.” 

Pansy dropped a distracted kiss on his cheek as she passed him, and Theo rolled his eyes before clapping him on the shoulder. “Alright, Draco, sorry to impose but you know what she’s like.”

“Not at all, Theo, you’re welcome—”

Pansy interrupted him, shouting from the sitting room. “Draco, are you _moving in_ here?” She popped her head out, her eyes wide. “This is that lovely set from the drawing room in the Manor, isn’t it?”

Draco nodded, she was right. He’d had the house-elves shift the Knole sofa and armchair down from the main house; they were the cosiest bits of furniture in the entire Manor and they fitted perfectly in the smaller setting he’d chosen for himself. “Not quite moving in. I’m staying for the month it seems silly to take a hotel suite, but—” 

“‘But’, indeed. So, what, the gatehouse is your new pad then, darling?” She grinned, impish. “Ooh, are you going to play out some sexy estate manager fantasies? We could get you a shotgun, like the Muggles use; then you could put your Barbour on and march about looking brooding and handsome. What do you think, Theo?”

“I _thought_ you liked women these days, Pansy, this feels like a flashback to fourth year.” He slanted a look at Draco and smirked. “Though, I’ll admit, throw in some nice leather boots and I’m with you on this journey.”

“You’re both ridiculous and I’ve no idea why I invited you down.”

Pansy snorted. “Clearly you wanted help with something, this place is a tip and you’ve not dealt with anything more complicated than a hotel room or a managed apartment for the last million years.”

Theo had already drifted into the dining room, ignoring their bickering just like he had when they had all tumbled around the Slytherin dormitories, thirteen and thinking they owned the world. 

“I was _going_ to ask your opinion on whether I ought to bother with changing this wallpaper, Pansy. I bloody hate the colour, I mean look at it, it’s—” 

“There’s an owl in the kitchen!” Theo shouted. “And no fucking cups, Merlin’s tits, Draco, would you get a grip!”

Pansy looked deeply curious, and Draco couldn’t blame her; he didn’t usually get requests for consultations this close to Christmas, he was very strict with his time off each year. Maybe it was Andromeda. He followed Theo’s route through the house, and ignored the way he was rifling through the admittedly bare kitchen cupboards to take in the tawny brown owl sitting on the brass tap. It wore the red leather ankle cuff of the wizarding postal office—a rented bird then—and waited patiently while he untied the roll of parchment from its leg.

He unfurled the letter, and as soon as he saw the first line, his chest clenched in anticipation and surprise. He recognised the handwriting.

_Draco,_

_There’s a Christmassy thing on today down by Hermione and Ron’s, want to come with? I’m heading out after lunch, so meet me here at Grimmauld—you know the address—or Floo down to the Pickled Piskie in Devon and I can join you there._

_Harry x_

Harry must have paid extra, to have the owl seek Draco out with an unknown address. And he still hadn’t gotten another owl of his own, after Hedwig; that made Draco’s chest ache, too. 

“Someone begging you to work over Christmas, is it?” Pansy asked.

“No, it’s not work.” Draco looked up from the letter, his thumb tracing the scrawled little _x_. “Just got invited to ‘a Christmassy thing’.”

“You should go.”

“You don’t even know who invited me, Pansy.”

“Well, you should go anyway.” She eyed the parchment in his hands. “Though I have an inkling.”

* * *

The Pickled Piskie was warm, rustic, and heaving with pink-cheeked customers. Draco had assumed that rural Devon would be as well on the way to deep winter as Wiltshire, so he’d arrived by Floo already wrapped up in a wool coat and cashmere scarf; within the minutes it took him to make his way outside, he could already feel the prickle of sweat on the back of his neck. He ducked through the low threshold of the ancient door, and the frigid air hit him with a shiver.

“Alright, Draco?” Harry had pink cheeks, too, and an expertly knitted hat with a stupid little bobble on his head. He smiled, lop-sided, and nodded toward the well-trodden path towards the market square of the village. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way. Are Hermione and Weasley in the village then?”

“No, a little further out. Ron built their place, actually.” Harry looked proud, and Draco had to stifle his own surprise; magical construction was a complicated business, to pull it off successfully _was_ impressive. “They’ll be knocking around the market, but I thought you might prefer if we did our own thing first.”

Draco swallowed, and reminded himself that there wasn’t a single reason he shouldn’t be here with Harry, their breath mingling in the cold air as they walked side by side. Close but not touching. “That sounds good to me. I smell mulled wine, let’s get some.” That prompted a smile wide enough to reveal Harry’s dimples, and Draco forgot about his fears for a moment. 

A smiling woman served them mulled wine from a wide copper pot, cinnamon and star anise and slices of orange floating in the rich red brandy-spiked claret. Draco brought the cup to his face and inhaled. The heady mix of spice and fruit and booze had him flushed and warm before he even took a sip. 

“I tried it last year when I came here for the first time. It’s good, isn’t it?” Harry asked.

“It’s bloody brilliant, actually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt M](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769766936921112596/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	8. 8th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fibs, and friendship, and tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, and will post daily up to and including Christmas Day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

Hermione’s office was busy with paperwork and folders, and her desk was strewn with parchment that looked chaotic to the untrained eye. Draco was familiar with her system though, and spotted the funny little Muggle post-it notes that she had sworn by back when they were studying for their NEWTS. She wasn’t the sentimental sort, to his knowledge she never had been, but there were a couple of photo frames sitting facing her which Draco would bet money held pictures of her husband and children—and Harry too, no doubt. There was a ridiculous miniature Christmas tree sitting precariously on top of a pile of neatly labelled brown folders. It had one huge red bauble attached to the very tip, and a dusting of silver-white glitter that gathered in clumps between the pine-needles.

“Rose made it, in case you’re questioning my sanity,” Hermione assured as she handed him a mug of tea and moved to sit in her well-worn leather office chair. 

“Not at all, it’s… charming.” 

She laughed. “No, Draco, it’s ghastly—you can say it! She’s two and it was a joint effort with Teddy so some of this can be laid at his door.”

“Well, in that case, I’m sure he’s responsible for the giant bauble.” Draco sipped his tea, and absently tweaked the parchment on Hermione’s desk into neater piles until there was room for him to put down his mug. “So, you were interested in that case I took in the spring?”

Her eyes brightened, that curiosity and thirst for knowledge as sharp now as it had been when she was eighteen. “Yes, very interested actually. But it might have to wait, because I did fib a bit to get you here, and Ron said it would probably be better off coming from me.”

Draco had the sudden sensation of going down—fast—in one of the lifts at the Ministry. “Fib?”

“Well,” she rolled her eyes, “it’s not like you’d have showed up if I said I wanted to _talk_ , is it? Anyway, Ron’s forbidden me from work for at least another month—Hugo only arrived a little over a month ago and I’m _fine_ , but we all get a bit antsy if we’re apart for long.”

“You wanted to _talk_. About what?” He knew exactly what.

Hermione levelled him with a flat look. “No. Not about Harry, that’s entirely your business—you’re both grown-ups and shooing you onto a balcony at a party when it was clearly already your bloody goal was about as far as I’m willing to go on that front.” 

Suitably chastened, and warmed, Draco smiled and waved his hand. “Go on then, consider me put in my box.”

“Okay, I wanted to talk about your disappearing act, and the whole arranged marriage thing and deciding you had to cut yourself off from everyone. It’s just—I _was_ angry, at the time, because it wasn’t rational—and you know I’m not very good when things aren’t logical—but Ron talked me through it all a bit.”

“Hermione, I—”

She cut him off. “No, let me say my piece first and then you can be charming. I’m aware you’re probably just back for Christmas and then you’ll be off travelling again, but—don’t deny it because it’s true—you _were_ my friend, quite apart from whatever went on with you and Harry.”

Draco sat forward in his chair, an urgent tension in every muscle. “I wouldn’t deny that Hermione, you were a good friend—one I didn’t deserve. I was an idiot.” 

“You were. Even Ron missed playing chess with you. And I’ve had to keep up with your work through Theo.” She sipped her tea with one eyebrow raised.

“Well, that’s nigh on unforgivable of me.” 

Hermione reached out and stopped him from compulsively adjusting the quills in her desk-tidy, and kept hold of his hand. “All I’m saying, is that whatever happens while you’re home—or when you leave—you can owl, alright?”

Draco curled his fingers around her hand, utterly surprised, and no doubt completely obvious about it. This was the woman who had been the first person to hit him when they were thirteen, who had settled across from his table in the library when they were eighteen and declared Professor Binns a ‘pedagogical relic’, and here she was shocking him again. He had been an unforgivable arse, but she wanted to be his friend anyway. He wasn’t sure how to take loyalty he knew he didn’t deserve; Pansy and the rest of his old house-mates were one thing, but Hermione? Draco knew when she had decided to give him a second chance—she’d told him, in their first week back at Hogwarts after the war, that it was when he didn’t give Harry away on that awful day in the Manor—but he didn’t know what he’d done to earn _this_.

“I promise, I will.”

Hermione smiled, “Good! Fair warning, if you bugger off and don’t at least send me a postcard I _will_ track you down and make my opinion known this time.”

“Duly noted,” Draco laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt J](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769766707627163668/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	9. 9th December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, and will post daily up to and including Christmas Day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

Tippy had to hand-deliver Blaise’s letter after it arrived at the Manor, and she had the same disapproving look on her little face that she had been sporting ever since Draco announced he would be staying in the Gatehouse. She had borne a salary, and his perpetual absence from the house, but apparently his decision to live in ‘servant’s quarters’ was simply beyond the pale for her. Still, she dutifully presented the gaudy tropical-patterned envelope on a silver tray, though she was quick to disappear with a crack the moment he took it and gave her a nod of dismissal.

Inside the envelope was a postcard photograph—Blaise probably took the shot himself. It was like a window onto a beach, showing a pristine turquoise sea lapping gently at white sand; Draco could almost smell the salt in the air, could almost feel the heat of the sunshine. Blaise had scrawled ‘Merry Christmas’ into the sand, and dropped a Muggle santa hat next to the message for good measure.

_Draco, hope Blighty is being good to you, Krabi certainly ticks the box for me. I’m learning to do Muggle diving—did you know they have these funny goggle things, a bit like a Bubble-Head Charm? Anyway, no gifts for you but I thought you’d like to see what you’re missing! xo Blaise_

Draco smiled as he read; Blaise had always been adventurous, but in his year of ‘non-sexual re-connection with his authentic self’ he had thrown himself into physical pursuits. He had spent the year bouncing seamlessly between attending academic conferences and taking part in camel racing or dune-surfing, so Muggle diving was just the latest in a long list. 

He tucked the postcard onto the mantelpiece, amongst the neatly-woven garland of holly and boughs of pine the house-elves had brought down from the main house along with all the furniture he had chosen. This small sitting room felt more comfortable to him now than the grand expanse of the parlour he and his mother had eaten pomegranates in when he was a child; he was living alone, and even if he only planned to stay for the month, the cosy closeness of it all made him feel less like a loose end. Pansy had helped him sort out the wallpaper before he’d gone down to Devon on Sunday; gone was the intense floral pattern, and in its place were warm honey tones and all of his favourite landscape paintings from the Manor. 

Draco settled back into the gratuitously oversized sofa he had moved down from the main house and stretched his legs out to warm his feet near the fire. He picked up his discarded book—a Muggle author called Agatha Christie that Theo had loaned to him—but toyed with the well-thumbed pages rather than reading. 

When he had reached out to touch his fingertips to the international Portkey that brought him home on the last day of November, he had imagined a slow and torturous month of boredom and the gauche embarrassment of avoiding old schoolmates for the duration of December. He had thought that he would resent being trapped at home, knowing that a world of winter sunshine and people he didn’t know were out there without him. But to his utter surprise, he wasn’t jealous of Blaise and his jetsetting adventures. For the first time in his adult life, Draco was happy where he was—happy to be at home. Happy to be surrounded by the familiarity of the landscape and art and generously-stuffed sofas of his childhood. Happy to watch the snow drift outside his window while the fire crackled and radiated warmth that had him melting slowly toward drowsiness. 

He blinked, slow and heavy, and let himself admit that he was happy to have this chance to reconnect with everyone he left behind, too. Everyone he deprived himself of. Everyone, but Harry most of all. _Harry_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt U](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769767552418447380/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	10. 10th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firewhiskey, friends, and terrible knitwear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

It was always slightly awkward arriving later than everyone else to an event; not because Draco was the shy and retiring type, but because the inequality of alcohol consumption always took at least an hour to balance out. Theo and Neville had clearly been the first to arrive, they were both rosy-cheeked and Theo’s lips were stained with red wine. Pansy’s lipstick was still pristine, so she was definitely only on her second gin and tonic, even though she was already curled around Ginny like some kind of ridiculous sequin-sparkled cat. And Harry. Well. Harry was _there_ and he was drinking a dark beer, and he looked utterly comfortable even though he was third-wheeling with _two_ couples. 

Pansy spotted Draco first, and waved as he made his way from the bar to their little corner booth, holding his Firewhiskey slightly aloft to avoid slopping it onto anyone. _The Hopping Pot_ was busy, for a Wednesday night, and there was a profusion of Christmas-themed robes and jumpers in the crowd. In fact, as he drew closer, Draco realised that Pansy’s glittering top actually had tiny sequin snowflakes slowly drifting from shoulder to hip. Harry’s jumper, while similarly festive, was absolutely crass.

“ _Jingle my bells?_ Really, Potter?” 

Said bells swung pendulously at the top of Harry’s jeans as he stood, laughing, to let Draco slide into the booth with them. “Yeah, you can thank George for this, he nicked my other jumpers. Though—honestly—it could have been worse, he’s got a whole _range_ in the shop right now.”

Draco sipped his drink and savoured the smooth smoke and heat of it as Harry settled next to him—their legs were touching. Draco didn’t move away. “Well, I hate it.” 

“Thanks.” Harry leaned closer, his voice was quiet, his dimple was back, and so was the earnest eye-contact that was as effective as a dose of Veritaserum as far as Draco was concerned. “When are you going to just accept you should call me Harry?” 

“When _indeed?_ ” Pansy stage-whispered into his ear, loud enough for the whole table to hear, so Draco snapped back, and then Harry nudged Draco with his knee, and they all slid into talking about Quidditch.

Harry’s leg stayed pressed firm against his, warm and solid, even when Draco was leaning over to listen to Neville explain his new propagation methods for Fire Seed Bushes. Their hands brushed together, once, when they both reached for their drinks at the same time, and even though Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, nobody else seemed to notice. Except Harry. When Draco glanced slantwise at him, there was a satisfied little smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Prompt S!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	11. 11th December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

Draco was startled out of his debate with Ginny on the merits of the new Banshee Bolt broom line by the ring of the heavy brass bell at the bar.

“Shit, is it that time already?”

Pansy rolled her eyes and smudged a kiss against his cheek before she stood and groped about on the bench for her bag. “Yes, darling—I told you you’d enjoy it if you just bothered to come.”

Draco slid along the age-smoothed wood of the bench until he was free of the booth, and grabbed his own coat. He had barely shrugged it onto his shoulders before Ginny stunned him still with a bright smile and a kiss on his other cheek. “She’s right enough, Malfoy, you ought to come again—think we’re going to squeeze one more in before Christmas.”

With that, she linked arms with Pansy and they made their way to the Floo. Theo was already wrapped under Neville’s big arm, the two of them leaned into each other—both the worse for wear—and shot their farewells over their shoulders as they ambled out of the pub.

“Walk you to the Apparition point?” 

Harry’s voice was drink-easy and closer than Draco had expected, he turned to find him standing at his shoulder, all rosy cheeks and absurd knitwear. 

“I was going to Floo actually, Wiltshire’s a bit far to go when I’ve had a drink.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Wiltshire? You’re staying at the Manor? Pansy said you usually stay in a hotel or something when you’re home—I mean, when you visit, that is.” 

“Yes, I—well, I—not actually in the Manor itself… It’s a bit big, and empty, and—anyway, don’t laugh but I’ve taken up in the gatehouse.” It felt like a dare, telling Harry where he was staying; like moving a chess-piece, and waiting in anticipation to see how Harry would respond. Draco had had too much to drink, obviously.

“If you wanted, you could Floo from mine? I’m still at Grimmauld.” There was a flush on Harry’s neck, swiftly hidden by the soft-looking dark grey scarf he wound around his neck before covering that hideous jumper in the same dark coat he had been wearing the week before on Regent Street. “There’s a park, on the way, sort of. There’s these really pretty light things they’ve set up, you might like them.”

“Oh—um—” Merlin, he really had had too much to drink, he was stuttering like a child.

Harry held his hands up, earnest and unthreatening. “Only if you want to.” 

Draco paused, and took a breath. His belly was warm with Firewhiskey, and his lips buzzed faintly. A walk would be nice. Refreshing. “Alright. Lead the way then.”

Harry’s smile was sudden and bright, and now Draco’s lips buzzed with a different warmth. They stepped out of the pub onto the cobbled street of Carkitt Market, and Harry walked next to him—close, like he had on their afternoon at the Christmas market in Devon—talking about the new shops, and the odd jobs he’d tackled since becoming Warden, and gently probing into Draco’s work and journeys. It was easy. It was just like the late-night walks they had taken around the Black Lake when they were eighteen, only softer, smoother; both of them weathered by time and the inevitable healing it brought. 

The lights in the park were pretty; great balls of red and blue and green strewn across the grass like a giant’s set of marbles, glowing in the darkness. 

Harry’s house was neat, warm, and lived-in; there was none of the decrepitude that had lingered under the careless eye of his great-aunt Walburga. But there was also no evidence of Christmas, no wreath on the door, no decorations inside. Draco didn’t say anything, but as Harry led him to the fireplace in the living room he must have noticed the way Draco looked around for any sign of the season. Before, Harry had been—well, to say he’d been enthusiastic about that last shared Christmas at Hogwarts would have been a serious understatement.

“Um.” Harry scratched the back of his neck, the first of his tells that Draco had discovered when they were both eleven and he’d watched him try to lie to McGonagall about missing inches of parchment on his transfiguration homework. “I don’t really— There’s only me, you see. I do Christmas at Ron and Hermione’s usually, if not the Burrow, so…”

Draco didn’t want Harry to look awkward like that around him, didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable in his own home; not after their walk, not after the brush of Harry’s pinkie against his own as they had crunched through the snow still lying crisp across the park. So he said, “That makes sense,” instead of asking Harry why he didn’t think he was worth some evergreen and ribbon just because he lived alone. “I’d better get out of your hair, anyway.”

“Alright,” Harry said, his voice low and private, even though they were alone. 

Draco threw a pinch of Floo powder onto the glowing embers in Harry’s hearth and green flames flickered high. “Goodnight, Harry.”

Harry’s response was swallowed in the crackle of fire as Draco stepped into the flames, but as he whirled away on magic and fire he could swear he saw Harry almost reach out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt O](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769767114902601818/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	12. 12th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts of gingerbread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

It wasn’t that he felt bad for Harry, he didn’t. Draco had felt a great many things for Harry Potter since the first time he knowingly met him, but pity had never been one of them. But it had felt wrong, seeing him in his home—even though it was warm, and cosy, and looked full of memories and trinkets—without a single nod to Christmas.

He wasn’t about to deliver a tree, or charm a wreath onto his door for him, nothing so presumptuous as that. But something to eat was always an appropriate gift. Harry had mentioned that _Brunhilda’s Bonny Bakes_ made the best biscuits and scones, and Draco was willing to bet that the talented madam Brunhilda could handle gingerbread, too. 

When he had arrived to put his order in, he found a surprisingly spartan shop; it was all dark counters and simple white plates, but that only meant that her cakes and pastries were the stars of the show. Brunhilda took detailed notes of his rather vague ideas, and sent him off with instructions to return in an hour—even the aid of magic couldn’t conjure a real cake in an instant. 

Draco entertained himself in Flourish and Blotts and Twilfitt and Tattings for the hour, and returned to the sugar-scented bakery in time to see his order being carefully packaged into a box. It was nothing like the gingerbread castles and palaces he had enjoyed as a boy, instead she had created a whimsical cake decorated with gingerbread biscuits and naive icing, still accurate enough to look like the terrace of grand houses on Grimmauld Place, topped with a tree and candied segments of clementine. Inside, he was promised, was a rich ginger and chocolate cake, ‘perfect for a sweet tooth’. It was beautiful, and gently festive, and when he was offered a small iced cottage biscuit that hadn’t made the cut for the final cake to taste, Draco confirmed that it was also delicious.

He wouldn’t take it to Grimmauld himself, that would be overstepping, but the bakery operated a discreet and reliable home delivery service that promised to have the cake in Harry’s hands by the end of business. Draco left the shop with a smile on his face and bubbles of excitement and nerves in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt N](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769767042655846421/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	13. 13th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas wishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

Draco wasn’t entirely sure how they had all ended up in his living room, but it had something to do with Pansy’s eyes going wide and pleading, and Theo sounding very reasonable when he talked about traditions, and roots, and ‘do you remember when…’ Now they were here—even Millicent had come— and Pansy had brought Primrose who sat like a small, fat, queen on the velvet cushion Draco liked to rest his head on while he read, surveying them all over her scrunched little nose.

“Well done on the tree, Malfoy,” Millie said, a look of reluctant appreciation on her face.

It was a beautiful tree. While the gatehouse wasn’t built on the scale of the Manor, it still had a wide bay window that accommodated a generously proportioned pine he had selected from the woods. Pansy had brought fairy lights with her—real ones, not the Muggle sort, they would never work on the Manor grounds, too many wards and layers of old magic were bedded into the land and every property on it—and she had already scattered them neatly amongst the dark branches of the tree.

Now she stood in front of the fireplace with a handful of neatly cut squares of parchment, and an officious look on her face only slightly off-set by the stray lights glinting in her hair. “Time for wishes, everyone! Get your quills out—or your biro, Millie, I know you have _opinions_.”

“I’m bloody well left-handed you tart, you’d have opinions too if everything you ever wrote smudged.”

Theo looked at Draco and rolled his eyes, and for a moment it felt like being thirteen again; all of them gathered around the tree in the common room, indulging in the traditions they had all learned as little ones, all quietly homesick even if none of them ever admitted it. Adulthood brought its own strange longing for home, only home was a time that couldn’t be gone back to, and childhood was a foreign country. This was better, Draco thought, all of them together grown and making the memories new. 

He dutifully took his own slip of parchment, and promised himself to wish bravely. There wasn’t any real magic in it; the ritual of gathering and draping one’s hopes for the future amongst the evergreen and the lights was one of self-reflection and end-of-year warmth, not of scrying or true intention-setting. But there was something in the admission, something in the marking of paper, of forming the words in crisp black ink and hanging it with a silver ribbon that made it real and tangible. 

Draco was careful to nestle his wish at the back of the tree, out of sight from his friends. He wasn’t ashamed of it—though once he would have been—but he did feel a surge of protectiveness, the need to shield this wish from speculation. It was only three words, but they were true. He wished, and he wrote, and then he poured wine and demanded entertainment in exchange for playing host. Nobody even tried to look at his wish, and he was filled with an almost painful rush of affection for his thicket of prickly but loyal friends.

Harry had sent him a letter the night before, thanking him for the cake. There had been a tiny smudge of icing on the corner of the parchment, and Draco had smiled, helplessly charmed that Harry hadn’t even stopped to lick his fingers clean before dashing a note off to him. 

Draco had been brave when he wrote down his wish, and he would be brave again when he replied to Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt V](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769767641766035456/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	14. 14th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters, and sled-racing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

_Harry,_

_I’m glad you liked it, you were right about Brunhilda—I got a taste-test of your gingerbread houses and they were better than most I’ve ever had._

_I’m going to visit Aunt Andromeda today, it’s been a couple of months since I’ve seen Teddy. I wondered if maybe you wanted to join us? I’m taking him sledding, they’ve snow where they are and he loved it last year when he visited me in Switzerland._

_Draco_

* * *

_Draco,_

_Sounds brilliant, what time?_

_Teddy told me all about you and your speed-enhancing charms last winter. Fancy a race?_

_Harry x_

* * *

_Harry,_

_Please tell me he didn’t dob me in it to Andromeda? Please tell me you didn’t._

_Draco_

* * *

_Draco,_

_As if he would—he’s smart enough to know that would be the end of going a ‘zillion miles an hour’ with his favourite cousin. And it’s been a long time since I wanted to get you into trouble._

_H x_

* * *

_Funny, he said the same about going on ‘the grown up broom’ with his favourite godfather when I saw him in June. Wrap up warm, get your mittens on, and prepare to lose._

_Draco x_

* * *

_I didn’t expect to have so much fun getting tipped into a snowdrift. Want to come over tomorrow to celebrate your win? Just hot chocolate, I promise._

_H x_

* * *

_Alright, hot chocolate at yours it is._

_Draco x_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt I](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769766627012247552/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	15. 15th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot chocolate, and heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

“This is indecent.”

Harry laughed, and pushed the mug of hot chocolate closer to Draco’s hand. “I reckon you deserve it, after winning so gloriously yesterday. Who knew tripping jinxes worked so well on sleds?”

“I bloody well didn’t jinx your sled, you’re just shit at tobogganing.”

He was in Harry’s house again, only this time they were sitting at the kitchen table and Harry had just made hot chocolate on the Aga, presenting the mug to Draco with a flourish. He’d watched as Harry added dark chocolate and spices to hot cream, stirring and tasting as he went, until he was satisfied and poured the velvety-looking drink into two big white cups. 

“Not shit at this, though, this is Teddy approved. And Pansy, actually—I made it for her back in November when everyone was here after Ginny got that Harpies win.”

“Well, child _and_ chocoholic approved, it must be good.” Draco said. His cup was almost overflowing with the whipped cream Harry had carefully floated on top of the hot chocolate, and the handle was dusted with cocoa. He took a cautious sip, and couldn’t help the flutter of his eyes as chocolate and star-anise and cinnamon melted and sparkled against his tongue. 

When he opened his eyes, Harry was watching him intently. Draco licked his lips, suddenly worried he had cream or chocolate on his face, and Harry’s eyes tracked the movement. It was unmistakable, and a hot flare of awareness prickled at the back of Draco’s neck.

Memories of those eyes watching his mouth echoed bell-like in Draco’s mind, and he allowed himself to wonder—for the first time since he had arrived home—what it would be like, between them, now that they were no longer the awkward inexperienced teenagers they had been the first time. 

Harry was quick to recover himself; he didn’t blush, just smiled and sipped from his own cup, and didn’t even fumble when Draco pointed out the cream at the corner of his mouth. He just brushed it off with a thumb and then absently sucked it clean. It was an unthinking act, Draco was sure of it, but that didn’t rob it of a single iota of casual eroticism. 

Just hot chocolate, Harry had said in his letter, and Draco had agreed to come, thinking his visit to Grimmauld would be as easy and safe as sharing time with Teddy had been. Naive, really. He and Harry had never been _just_ anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt G](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769766478865760306/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	16. 16th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea and toast, and warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

Draco had been home just over a fortnight, and was forced to concede that braving the bitter cold of a British winter was worth it in exchange for the bone-deep pleasure of sitting in front of a roaring fire. He had woken late and moved seamlessly from bed to sofa, where he’d set up camp with countless rounds of tea, and toast with raspberry jam. 

He hadn’t even bothered getting out of his pyjamas, but he had brought his book with him. Hercule Poirot, with his funny little moustache and his funny little grey cells, was the perfect distraction from the looping thoughts of Harry that had been lingering since—well—since Draco had first seen him on the snow-dusted embankment of the Thames at the beginning of the month. He knew Harry had been friendly towards him since that first impromptu meeting, but he hadn’t allowed himself to think, or hope, for more. 

Draco was a lucky man. He had a good life, and good friends, and he had salvaged himself from the worst influences of his parents, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d made mistakes of his own, without any help from his father, and the foremost of them was hurting Harry. 

But yesterday… Yesterday had Harry looked at Draco with clear and obvious want. Yesterday Harry made hot chocolate and guilelessly admitted that he still remembered that Draco liked cinnamon, ten years after they had last shared a table. Yesterday they had eaten fat wedges of the cake Draco had sent to Harry, and Harry half-boasted that he’d got a wreath for the front door, as well as the garlands of holly and yew that had decorated the fireplace Draco had arrived through. Decorations Harry had put up after the arrival of the gingerbread cake.

They hadn’t done anything more than eat cake, and drink hot chocolate, and talk, but Draco had spent the duration of his visit filled with the kind of tingling exhilaration he usually associated with flying, or the breathless moment before someone touched him, intimate and skin-to-skin. He had left, his mouth tingling with spices but untouched. It shouldn’t be this easy, he thought, but it was. Harry made it easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt P](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769767198192828416/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	17. 17th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistletoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

_Darling,_

_Heading to get the Christmas tree for the flat today with Ginny, demand you come with. Yes, Harry will be there. Yes, I will absolutely desert you as soon as we arrive. Yes, I do have a bottle of Sancerre in the fridge to make it up to you. Be at mine for one!_

_Big fat kisses,_

_Pansy_

Draco didn’t bother replying, she already knew he’d come, so he didn’t need to confirm. He wasn’t sure if Pansy was going into Diagon, or buying from a Muggle market, so he left his robes behind and wrapped himself up in the black Belstaff coat that she had bought him last year when he had announced he’d be spending the winter in Galicia—the frosts there had been legendary. They Apparated from Pansy’s flat.

“This all looks rather... temporary.”

“It’s a fucking Christmas tree business, Draco,” she snapped. “Of course it’s temporary.” 

He had to give her that, so he just let her laugh at him while he looked around them at the orderly rows of trees waiting to be chosen; feathery little Fraser Firs and silver-blue Norway Spruce. “When are—” He was interrupted by a shouted hello and then a flash of red hair as Ginny ran to Pansy and kissed her; open, and excited, and everything Pansy had missed out on with her last girlfriend. Harry joined them more sedately. He was wrapped up once more in that soft grey scarf again and he looked—well, Draco couldn’t help but smile.

“Alright, Draco?” Harry nodded at him. “Want to wander while they do their thing?”

Pansy was already leaning into Ginny’s side and they looked to be engaging in a perfectly pleasant argument about the finer qualities of tree varieties, so Draco was only too happy to leave them behind and walk with Harry. “Go on then.” 

_The Christmas Forest_ tree-sellers had set their _temporary_ market up on the grounds of the Crystal Palace park, and it was beautiful—all blanketed in the still-present snow Draco was sure everyone should be thanking Harry for. They were quiet for a moment as they got out of earshot of Pansy and Ginny, and it was Harry who spoke first.

“So,” he said, glancing sideways at Draco, “ you’re halfway through your month back, how’s it going?”

Draco paused, feeling out his response before he spoke; he was better at that, these days. “It’s been a surprise, actually, surprisingly good.”

“Well I’m glad—I, for one, have been enjoying it.” Harry bumped their elbows together, and moved close as he ducked under a low-hanging reindeer decoration. “Bit of a surprise all round, I reckon.”

“Not a bad one, I hope?”

“Definitely not a bad one.” Harry drew to a stop, and turned to him properly, before his eyes darted up and an altogether puckish expression stole over his face. “So, hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we seem to have found ourselves in a mistletoe den.”

Draco looked around them and realised that ‘den’ didn’t quite cover it. It was a _grotto_. They were surrounded on three sides by great bunches of mistletoe, tied with simple twine and hung ready to be sectioned off and sold along with the Christmas trees. It was beautiful, the slender leaves, the milk-white berries; beautiful, if one wasn’t suddenly seized with fluttering panic at the impending moment. 

Harry must have seen it in his eyes, and was quick to reassure. “It’s not magic mistletoe, Draco, no worries.”

“Harry, _all_ mistletoe is magical. So we ought to—though I shouldn’t—I had wanted to apologise—” Draco hadn’t stuttered like this since he was shorter than the house-elves, so he clamped his mouth shut and tried to put his thoughts in order before _everything_ spilled out. 

It had been a _non-sequitur_ but Harry clearly understood. “Apology accepted—no, don’t interrupt, let me finish—I wasn’t actually _angry_ at you, not at the time, and not since. I was sad, but I understood. So. You’re forgiven.”

Forgiven. Draco knew that ditching Harry when they were eighteen and fumbling their way around feelings that seemed to dwarf even the war was the _least_ of his bad choices, but at the time he had thought he was moving on from his prejudices and steadfast loyalty to tradition. It had cut, seeing the stark shock on Harry’s face, seeing the tremble of wetness on his lashes as they stood waiting to enter the Great Hall and graduate. Draco had done worse things in his life, but crushing that budding connection had felt irredeemable.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Harry said. “I don’t really care about mistletoe.”

Draco frowned, he’d never _not_ kissed someone under the mistletoe, even if it was a simple peck on the cheek. One didn’t ignore the winter spirits lightly. But— “Is there someone you—” he broke off, he had wandered into territory too painfully awkward to risk another step.

“No,” Harry said, then looked right at Draco. “Look, I haven’t been _waiting_ for you. I’ve dated, I’ve had relationships that were—they were good, okay?”

“But you’re not—right now?”

“No. And I might not have been waiting, but I’m not going to sit on my arse when something good shows up and pretend I don’t want it. Because I do.”

“You sure about that? It’s not just the mistletoe and general feelings of festive goodwill?”

Harry pinned him with a measured look. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Draco took a deep breath—the air smelled of pine and snow and Harry’s cologne—and thought of his wish still tucked so carefully in the boughs of his own Christmas tree. He gathered his courage, and repeated Harry’s words; a get-out if he needed it. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

Harry laughed, but then he was leaning in, and his face filled Draco’s vision. Draco closed his eyes at the proximity, and felt Harry’s breath on his face, and then the brush of lips against his own. It was soft, and chaste, and weighty.

It was Draco’s first kiss from Harry in ten years, and it felt like a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt R](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769767349237579836/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	18. 18th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snowflakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

Draco’s steps crunched loudly in the muffled quiet of the woods. It had snowed again overnight, and there was a dense blanket of white even under the canopy of the trees.

Draco paused on his walk to peer at the flakes that had gathered on the bare twigs of the low-hanging oak branches. This close, he could see the delicate structure of the last-fallen snowflakes that stood proud from the mass of white around them. Imperfect. Utterly delicate, and utterly beautiful. 

It had started snowing in London, the day before, while he had been out with Pansy, and Ginny, and Harry. The first flakes had begun to float to earth as Harry had drawn back from pressing that one, chaste kiss to Draco’s mouth. Draco had opened his eyes, and there on Harry’s eyelashes landed a single snowflake; it melted in the warmth of their shared breath, before they heard Pansy’s voice and stepped apart.

Alone now, Draco’s breath plumed in the cold air as he thought about how Harry had looked at him while they dutifully approved of Pansy and Ginny’s choice of the perfect tree, and how Harry had looked with the tree slung across his shoulder—they couldn’t Levitate it, what with all the Muggles around—and how Harry had casually mentioned his work schedule for the rest of the week.

Draco carried on walking, and thinking about Harry. He’d go into Diagon tomorrow, because he needed to buy crackers for dinner with Pansy on Christmas day, and if Harry happened to be in the area then he’d see if that kiss really _was_ the start of something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt X](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769767781490622504/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	19. 19th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monsieur Emperaire’s Emporium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

Monsieur Emperaire’s Emporium was a newcomer to Diagon, built and established in the years after the war, and it was—according to Pansy—the only place to get good crackers this year. The lavish decorations started at the door, which was festooned in golden lotus blossoms that opened and closed in time with the gentle sounds of orchestral carols, and continued with overwrought elegance inside the shop itself. Draco wasn’t quite sure what Monsieur Emperaire usually sold, but for now, at least, it was packed to the rafters with Christmas decorations, gifts, and any glittering festive trinket you could think of.

It was like a jewel-box, full of silver and gold and burnished bronze, rich green and red and crisp white. There was a particularly fetching set of cutlery in gold-dipped silver, with handles modelled on holly leaves, that was currently pirouetting around its ebony canteen in time with the music. Neatly folded tablecloths in spider silk, damask, and Habetrot linens—glittering with thread of gold and fairy dust for the _perfect_ dining experience. Draco stroked the fabric, but carefully reminded himself that he was here on a mission, and Pansy would have his guts for garters if he didn’t find something suitably fabulous for their Christmas day gathering.

He slipped past the group of witches cooing over an arrangement of delicately blown glass ornaments and found the towering display of Christmas crackers in the centre of the shop. Apparently Monsieur Emperaire was famous for them—not only were they beautiful, but he had worked with a certain Weasley to develop a very special _bang_. Draco wondered how exactly the result would turn out, but Pansy had assured him it was all perfectly safe and not at all prank-adjacent. Once pulled, the crackers promised to present gifts tailored to their winner; clever charmwork indeed, if it lived up to Pansy’s excited claims.

All Draco had to do was choose which design would best suit the intimate dinner he and Pansy had planned together from the staggering display before him. There was a box of crackers in the deepest plum, with twinkling silver stars chasing around them, which caught his eye at first. But then he spotted the one he _really_ wanted, right at the top of the pyramid of boxes. It was a beautiful forest design in greys and silvers, golds and greens, and amongst their spindly branches a stag jumped and danced. They were perfect. He’d just need to tell Pansy to change the tablecloth, it would be fine.

He wandered around the shop after directing the affable shopkeeper to his selection for wrapping and found himself at the same display of glass ornaments that he had passed moments before. They were exquisite, dragon-fired and crafted with both precision and the tender care that came with true art. Draco lingered, inspecting every piece. There was a tiny Shivering Bluebells sculpture, the glass trembling in an invisible breeze, and there were animals, too.

* * *

Harry must have been busy actually working, because after leaving the Emporium, Draco didn’t spot him on his lazy wander through Diagon and Diurn Alley. But that was alright, because after dinner that night another owl came to the gatehouse bearing Harry’s freshly-familiar scrawl.

_Draco,_

_Got a cheeky day off tomorrow, so that’s me free and easy till after Christmas now. There’s a thing up in Scotland, ice sculptures, fancy it?_

_H x_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt C](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769766094914846740/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	20. 20th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ice sculptures and warm hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

They arrived in Scotland with the resounding crack of Apparition, Harry’s hand a warm presence in the middle of Draco’s back from Side-Alonging him. Around them, the world was a cyanotype. Blue, and white, and graphic in contrast. Harry had described it as ‘ice sculptures’, but that didn’t cover it; Draco had imagined quaint little reindeer or winter scenes, but once again Harry had brought him a surprise. 

In his travels he had come to think of Britain as small and boring, but even though he had visited the ice palaces of Norway and Russia he had to admit to the giddy feeling of pure wonder as he looked around them at the frozen expanse of Loch Veyatie—populated with crystalline structures that caught the watercolour glimmer of northern winter light and _shone_ with it.

“This is gorgeous,” Draco admitted. 

Harry looked pleased with himself. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? They’ve done a brilliant job with the wards, too.”

The entire loch was cloaked in the muffling security of Muggle-Repelling charms; it wouldn’t do for anyone to stumble across a magically frozen expanse of water and the frankly gravity-defying buildings spun from ice that filled the entire surface. 

“Not bad at all. Look, those hikers up there are looking right at us—they can’t see a thing,” Draco said, and pointed up the hill.

Harry turned to look, and lost his footing—despite the charm Draco had cast on both their boots when they arrived—and grabbed at Draco’s arm with one hand while he windmilled with the other. He didn’t fall, but then he didn’t let go of Draco either. So they walked on like that; Harry’s hand tucked into the crook of Draco’s elbow, their shoulders brushing, and Draco’s face warm with a flush.

“Hermione and Ron didn’t want to come to this one?”

“Oh—no, no I didn’t invite them.” 

“No?”

Harry shook his head with a smile. “Thought it’d be nice to have you to myself for an hour or two.”

“Oh.” Harry squeezed gently at Draco’s arm, and the flutter of surprise in his throat settled. Harry had been clear, under the mistletoe, but it hadn’t settled into Draco’s reality yet—the fact that Harry wanted him. But the proof of it was there in the warmth of Harry’s hand, and the dimple peeking out of his stubble, and the crisp beauty of the frozen Highlands around them. “Well, you’ve got me—where first?”

“What about that mini Hogwarts?”

* * *

Draco’s face was freezing cold, despite Harry’s regular warming charms and the flush of pleasure that had sat in his chest for the entire afternoon. They were heading back to the designated Apparition point, and Draco had never more regretted making dinner plans with Pansy.

“You’re off tomorrow, aren’t you?” 

“Yep. No plans, either, in case you’re wondering.”

Draco gathered the same kernel of bravery that had fuelled his quill when he wrote his wish for the tree, and when he accepted Harry’s first invitation. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve celebrated it before, but tomorrow is the Solstice and I’ll be going for a walk to find the Yule Log.” He watched Harry’s expression before he continued and found only an open curiosity. “So. You could join me, if you wanted. It’s at the Manor though—the estate, that is. So if you don’t—”

“I do,” Harry interrupted.

“Okay, then tomorrow—you can Floo in if you like. It’s ‘Malfoy Manor East Gatehouse’, I’ll sort the wards.”

Harry’s smile banished the last of the chill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt F](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769766352465690634/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	21. 21st December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solstice and snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

Harry was in his living room. Harry was standing, soot-dusted and smiling, in his living room, and despite everything—maybe _because_ of everything—he fitted perfectly. Draco could have laughed at it, at the two of them finally _visiting each other’s homes_ , all civilised and grown up. But it wasn’t funny, it was brilliant and strangely uncomplicated—Harry had brought a purple tin with him and put it on the table, like it was normal for him to bring a little offering of something when he came to Draco’s.

Draco eyed the tin; he didn’t recognise the brand and none of the pictures were moving—it must be Muggle. He’d wait to ask about it until Harry mentioned it. “I thought we could head straight out, then come back for something hot to drink.”

“Sounds brilliant,” Harry said. “I’ll admit now, though, you’ll have to tell me what the Yule log thing is about—I’ve never done the Solstice or any of this. Luna mentioned it last year but she spent it with her dad, I think.”

“Alright, come on and I’ll explain as we go.” Draco reached out and swept Harry’s scarf around his neck properly, before he could think himself out of it. Harry’s scarf was as soft as it looked. “It’s colder here.”

He led the way out of the gatehouse and into the snow with Harry by his side, and as they walked into the fringe of the forest that swept across the entire eastern side of the estate he explained the Solstice.

“Most witches and wizards have fully embraced Christmas—I mean, I have too, obviously—and even Hogwarts shifted celebrations to the twenty-fifth. But before all that arrived, we celebrated midwinter—Muggle and magic alike.”

“That’s the solstice then, is it?” Harry asked. He was walking close again, and Draco let their arms brush until Harry simply took Draco’s hand in his own. “Middle of the winter, yeah?”

Draco was suddenly glad he hadn’t worn gloves, despite the chill in his fingertips. “Yes, it’s the longest night of the year—the tipping point where we say goodbye to winter and remember that the sun will come back to us.”

Harry smiled, and his palm was warm against Draco’s. “I like the sound of that. So where does the yule log come into it?”

“Well, traditionally you gather a big log to burn through the longest night. It gives you the warmth and light that the winter has held back, and by morning, the balance of the year has turned.”

“Okay, so we need to find something big enough to burn all night then.”

Draco laughed. “My ancestors used to bring a whole tree trunk into the Manor, back when the whole place was built around the Great Hearth. But no, it doesn’t have to be massive,” he shrugged. “I probably won’t even stay up all night. I just— I used to help hunt the log when I was little. First Christmas back home in years and I wanted to do it again.”

Harry’s fingers squeezed around his hand, warm and strong. “Consider me honoured to be invited then, let’s catch ourselves a log.” 

It wasn’t long before they had walked into the forest proper, even with every deciduous tree bare the light only trickled through to ground level. Around them, the gnarled trunks of ancient oak, slick-leaved holly, and the cathedral canopy of beech towered over them; snow-dusted and stately.

“What about that one?” Harry asked, pointing with their joined hands at a huge branch lying beside an oak tree. It must have fallen in the autumn winds that swept across the landscape every year.

“It’s fucking enormous, but if you can manage to hack through it with a Diffindo then I’m happy to take a bit of it home.”

“I think it’s perfect, I can break off those bits that stick out, and I bet it’ll fit in your fireplace in the gatehouse—if it can fit me, it can fit this.”

Harry looked so delighted with his find that Draco simply couldn’t say no. “Alright, but you can carry it.” 

He watched, a helpless smile on his face, as Harry neatly trimmed the branch with swipes of his wand and then hoisted the end onto his shoulder and started dragging it back in the direction of their footprints. 

“Come on then,” Harry demanded, and waited—his hand held out for Draco to catch up and take.

* * *

It took some manoeuvring, but between them they managed to carry the oak branch into the gatehouse and get one end firmly planted in the fire. Within moments, the flames had licked it into embers, and the long burn had begun. Harry was eagerly stripping himself out of his coat and scarf, and for a moment Draco wondered when he’d stop.

“Worth all that time in the snow to come back to this,” he said.

“Funny, I was just thinking that myself the other day. Blaise is on a beach somewhere, and for the first time in ages I have absolutely no desire to join him.”

Harry’s eyes were warm as he sank onto the sofa. “Consider me relieved.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m getting a drink, I have some Wassail cider, if you want? Or tea.”

“Cider. Definitely cider.”

Draco served two cups of mulled cider, and returned to the living room to find Harry with that purple tin open on his lap. “Are you opening your present to me? Bit rude.”

“Well, I thought if you were going to introduce me to an old wizarding tradition, maybe I could share a muggle one.” Draco sat next to him and nodded, so Harry continued, sheepish but determined. “Well, I never got to do much of the normal Christmas things before Hogwarts, but I always nicked one of these when they were going. They’re called Quality Street.”

“They smell like chocolate.”

Harry laughed, and held the open tin out to him. “They are, go on, pick one. My favourite is the caramel one.” He rummaged around and presented a small gold-wrapped chocolate to Draco. 

“I’ll have that, then.” The wrapper was plain and unmoving, no dancing stars or twirling sparks, but the chocolate was smooth and the caramel tooth-achingly sweet. Draco slapped Harry’s hand away from the tin and reached for another one. “You’ve got good taste, Harry, these are good.”

“Try the red one, you like strawberry, don’t you?”

So Draco did, he tried all of them over the course of more ciders than was wise. Then he decided to spike the cider with apple brandy, and they were out in the gatehouse garden pouring lukewarm wassail at the roots of the apple tree and Harry was holding his hand in the cold crisp night. 

“I’m going to have to stay up all night to mind that yule log,” Draco said. His breath was a curling bloom of white. 

Harry shook out his empty mug; the tree had drunk well tonight, too. “I can stay. Keep you company, if you like.”

“Would you? I might just fall asleep.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Harry was pulling him back toward the house as he spoke. Back to the fireside, and the sofa, and the Christmas chocolates Harry had secretly loved as a child and brought with him to share, and Draco followed him happily. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt D](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769766179560489000/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	22. 22nd December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, and will post daily up to and including Christmas Day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

Draco woke slowly, his eyes still heavy and his limbs reluctant. His pillow was warm. His pillow was warm and moving.

He tilted his head to look up, and realised that his pillow was in fact Harry’s chest, and the clinging tendrils of sleep were swept away in the realisation that not only had Harry stayed, they had both fallen asleep on the sofa, tucked against each other, over and under each other.

“Morning,” Harry murmured, and his voice was low and rumbling with sleep, and Draco had to close his eyes for a moment. That was what Harry sounded like when he woke up, what he looked like; soft and rumpled, with a crease on his cheek from the cushion he’d had his face pressed against, and the whisper of a smile at his mouth.

Wits suitably gathered, Draco replied. “Good morning, I’d ask if you slept well but…” he trailed off, attempted to shrug.

“Oh, I did, actually.” Harry’s arm was still curled around Draco’s shoulders, and the weight of his hand was an anchor dragging Draco back down into the molasses of a morning doze. “Gonna sleep a bit more though… ‘s early.”

The end of yule log was still burning, slowly collapsing embers that still cast the room in warmth and light, and Draco was comfortable. So comfortable. “Mmm… Okay. We can go for a walk later then.” 

“Nice. You can show me more snow.”

Draco blinked, slow, and didn’t resist the pull down into sweet sleep.

* * *

“Is it a bit weird not living in it?” Harry asked.”The big house, I mean.”

They had wandered aimlessly, after waking a second time and inhaling tea and toast in equal measure before wrapping up and braving the morning, and now found themselves at a break in the trees that led down toward the formal gardens, and the Manor beyond. It stood, proud and pristine, in the snowy parkland; a testament to his family’s enduring wealth and prestige through the centuries.

“Well, I haven’t _lived_ in it since I was seventeen.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, well. It’s not weird, it’s—well.” They had talked about their war, back when they were eighteen and still smarting from the wounds, he didn’t need to explain his feelings. Harry already understood. “The Manor hasn’t felt like my home for a very long time, I don’t know that I’d have actually stayed this long if I had been sleeping there.”

“It’s pretty big for one person to be knocking around in.”

Harry was being kind, too kind, as usual. “I’ve thought about demolishing it.”

“Oh.”

Draco hummed, rather pleased to have stunned Harry into silence. “I’m not going to, not yet, anyway.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you did, though,” Harry said, and it wasn’t permission—Draco didn’t need anyone’s permission—but it was understanding, and Draco still wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn it. So he just squeezed Harry’s hand, and drew him on to the great big sprawling yew tree that had been his favourite part of the estate since he was allowed to roam by himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt L](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769766852640768020/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	23. 23rd December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not quite last-minute shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, and will post daily up to and including Christmas Day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

“You said you’d already got my present, Draco, why are you dragging me out into _this_?” 

“It’s not that bad, it’s not even Christmas Eve yet—and you should be grateful it’s me ‘dragging you out’ and not Millie or Theo. They take for-fucking-ever to pick _anything_.”

For all her whinging, Pansy kept pace with Draco’s hurried strides through the—admittedly heaving—throngs of pedestrians. “Who’s it for then?”

“I was thinking Liberty’s, they always have interesting stuff, don’t they?”

“Mmm, who’s it for, Draco?”

They ran across the road, Pansy clutching at his hand while they dashed in front of slow-moving cars. The snow had turned to wet grey sludge under the tyres, but even that sloppy mess was graced with the colourful reflections of the lights strung up across the whole street.

“I want something nice, something beautiful. Not practical, gifts aren’t for practical.”

Draco could feel Pansy’s eyes on him, assessing and sharp.

“It’s for Harry, isn’t it?” 

They stepped through the threshold, and were inside the grand old dame of Regent Street; stately and steady as an old liner, wood-panelled and beautiful. As soon as the doors shut behind them they were immediately blasted with hot air, the smell of expensive perfume, the sound of tills, and the satisfied smiles of happy shoppers. Draco steered them toward the stairs, he had a notion for something exotic; maybe the fourth floor.

Pansy was still staring at him, even as she allowed him to lead them along. Draco risked a glance at her, and an admission. “Yes, it’s for Harry.”

“Oh, it’s actually _Harry_ now?” Pansy stopped, absolutely uncaring of the obstruction they made, and the angry huffs of the people behind them. “Are you doing this, then? Properly?”

“I—” Draco licked his lips. “I think I am.”

Pansy grinned, bright and wide, and planted a kiss right on his mouth. “Fucking _hell_ , Draco, you should have said. Consider me on board, and bitching-free, for at least an hour. Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt H!](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769766554237272074/unknown.png)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	24. 24th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts, and kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, and will post daily up to and including Christmas Day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

Harry opened the door and immediately fumbled in the face of the neatly wrapped present Draco thrust into his hands. “You’ve brought me something—shit—I didn’t get you anything.”

“You don’t have to get me anything, Harry, it’s a gift. That’s the point. It’s not quid pro quo.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry stepped back and let Draco into the house, then closed the door behind them. It almost felt familiar now, arriving at Harry’s home, being welcomed inside.

“You can take my coat for me if that would make you feel better?” 

Harry looked deeply relieved to have _something_ to do, and slipped Draco’s coat off his shoulders with gentle hands. “Alright, living room, I’ve got some wine and more Quality Street if you fancy them.”

“Are there any of the gold ones left?” Draco asked as he abandoned Harry to the coat stand and settled himself into the comfortably worn velvet sofa in the living room. 

“I scooped a couple out before I went to town on it earlier—they’re in the lid for you.”

There was a small pile of brightly-coloured discarded wrappers on the coffee table, but true to Harry’s word, there were three of the caramel chocolates left safely on the other side of the box. “What prompted this little chocolate frenzy then?” Draco asked.

Harry came in carrying two glasses of red, with his present tucked under one arm, and a sheepish look on his face. “I was wrapping things for tomorrow, got a bit carried away with the shopping, and needed the sugar to keep me going.” He nodded toward the fireplace where a teetering pile of surprisingly neatly wrapped presents sat.

“I thought it was just Ron and Hermione you’re seeing tomorrow?”

“Er,” Harry sat down beside him and scratched at the back of his neck. “I might have gone slightly overboard for the kids.”

Draco couldn’t help it, he was snorting with laughter before he knew it. “No bloody wonder Teddy always goes on about your _amazing_ presents—if he’s getting a pile this big! I thought the latest Granger-Weasley was only a couple of months old?”

Harry just took a large swig from his glass and gave Draco the finger. When he swallowed, his lips were wine-stained and Draco had to sip at his own drink to distract himself from the view. 

“Never mind me and my out of control Godfathering. Can I open my present, or do I have to wait till tomorrow morning?”

Draco settled himself into the sofa, half in preparation to watch, half in preparation to hide in case Harry didn’t like it. He’d know immediately, of course, if Harry hated it because, even now, the man couldn’t keep his feelings off his face. “Go on, seeing as you’re still a heathen with no Christmas tree to put it under.”

“You can pretend it’s about my lack of tree, but I’m pretty sure you’re as impatient as I am,” Harry said, already carefully stripping off the sticky-tape the Muggle shop assistant had so neatly applied. “Should I shake it?”

“Just unwrap it, and stop trying to get clues.”

For all his cheek, Harry didn’t shake the box. He unwrapped his gift with surprising delicacy, with no rush and no ripping of paper; he was even attentive as he pulled out the tissue paper tucked around the contents of the box.

His cheeks flushed a faint pink as he saw what was inside. “Oh.”

Draco bit his lip. “Is that a good ‘oh’?”

Harry carefully lifted the glass statue out of the box and placed it on the coffee table; a crystalline piece of perfection amongst the riot of sweetie wrappers. “It’s really good. It’s— Is it just a Christmas ornament or can I have it up all the time?”

He watched as Harry stroked one finger along the sculpture. The night before, after half an hour of fruitless wandering, Pansy had dragged him out of Liberty’s and into a dark little street to Apparate into Diagon. She hadn’t stopped tugging him along in her wake until they reached Emperaire’s Emporium and the beautiful dragon-fired glass ornaments Draco had coveted on his first visit.

Draco knew that the exquisitely crafted glass stag was a personal gift, he knew that it carried weight. He cleared his throat, it was strangely tight. “It’s yours, Harry. You can display it whenever, however you want to.”

Harry let his hand fall away from the stag, and leaned toward Draco. “I want to kiss you again, can I kiss you again?”

Draco nodded, and sank into the sweetness as Harry’s lips met his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt Q!](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769767285324775444/unknown.png)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello [on Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	25. 25th December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of the 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020 fest, slightly behind but still dropping a chap or two a day! Subscribe to read along with posting, or binge at the end! ❤️

“I want to roll around in this perfume like Millie’s deranged Persian does with that catnip,” Pansy said, sniffing at her wrist. “You have to show me this shop, Penhaligons, it must be a fucking dream.”

“You look the part, darling—catty, snooty—but I’m glad you like it.”

She scowled, her nose still to her pulsepoint. “If I weren’t so stuffed I’d come over there and pinch you, Draco.”

Draco smirked from the safety of the sofa, the coffee table was a comforting barrier between them. “Ah, but you are, so you won’t.” 

Theo just snorted from his distinctly uncomfortable looking curl in the armchair nearest the fire, and didn’t deign to get involved in their post-dinner spat. 

Tippy might have disapproved of Draco’s decision to take up residence in the gatehouse—he caught her muttering about servant’s quarters when she had last popped in to try and tidy around him—but she hadn’t stinted on the Christmas spread. The dining table would have had justification to groan under the weight of a seven-bird roast, beef rib, and veritable mountains of potatoes and vegetables. It had been an intimate dinner for three, but that never seemed to make an impact on house-elf sensibilities regarding portions. They could eat for a week on the leftovers.

“I’ll take you there in the new year, if you want,” Draco conceded.

“You’ll still be here?” Theo asked, his calculatedly cool tone rather off-set by the raised eyebrow.

Pansy was looking at him with undisguised curiosity, too, and not a small bit of hope.

“Well,” Draco swallowed. It was one thing to mull it over in the peace and quiet of solitude, with no external opinions or common sense, but to admit it to his friends would make it real. “I was thinking of staying on, for a bit, at least.”

Pansy and Theo shared a sly glance at each other, and Draco’s fluttering stomach settled. Clearly the two of them approved, if the smug aura radiating from them was anything to go by.

“Going to stay here, or—?” Theo trailed off.

“Not the Manor.”

“Right, thought as much. Groundsman fantasy is here to stay and I’m into it, not going to lie.”

“Oh shush,” Pansy grinned, “we all know you’re into the _gardener_ , Theo. Very Lady Chatterley of you.”

Tippy arrived, the pop of house-elf Apparition interrupting their old Christmas ritual of merciless teasing that had been established during their time at Hogwarts. Floating above her tiny hand was a great big mountain of a Christmas pudding, complete with a sprig of holly on top. 

“It is time to flame the pudding,” she declared. And so she promptly did, with no room for discussion or debate, dimming the lights with a snap of her fingers and lighting the pudding with another. 

Blue flames rippled and roiled across the dome of the pudding, aurora-bright and coruscating, and the scent of hot brandy and fruit rose heady and rich. They all watched, lazy and quiet, as the flames slowly died down and they were left with just the orange glow of the fire in the hearth to light the room. 

“Thank you, Tippy, this is beautiful.”

“You’re welcome, Master Draco,” she replied, before she disappeared, righting the lamps and leaving the three of them with the pudding sitting proud in the middle of the coffee table.

Pansy actually put a hand over her eyes. “Merlin, I couldn’t eat another crumb.”

“Speak for yourself, Pansy.” Theo hauled himself out of his armchair, and ambled towards the kitchen. “I’m getting some cream and brandy butter—any more for any more?” 

“I’ll have a bit!” Draco called out. Pansy stretched her legs out on the chaise, she’d kicked her heels off as soon as she’d arrived and Draco’s chest felt warm at how comfortable she looked here—more comfortable than she’d ever been in the hotels and short-term flat rentals he’d had over the years. “You can have some of mine,” he whispered, and grinned at her eye roll.

“Well as you’re so full of goodwill to all mankind and all that rot, I’ll tell you now that there’s going to be a fireworks thing on New Year’s—the Muggles are mad for it—and we’re all going.” She paused, and took a sip of her wine. “Including you.”

Draco grinned, she was ready to try and strong-arm him, and he loved to trip her up. “Sounds good.”

“Sounds _good_? It’s going to be brilliant. You bastard.” 

Theo came back in, awkwardly carrying three bowls and spoons and a tub of ice cream along with the brandy butter and cream. “Didn’t take any persuading then, did he?” He laughed. “She thought you might play hard to get, I told her you wouldn’t.”

Pansy shot Draco a knowing glance over the rim of her wine glass. “No, you’re done with all that, aren’t you, Draco?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Prompt K!](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769766775340007474/unknown.png)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello [on Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	26. New Year’s Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireworks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s a wrap on my 2020 Advent fic. It's slightly late but finishing this, and posting it, has kept me in that soft glow of festive warmth and honestly I’ve needed it over the last few weeks!

Primrose Hill lived up to its name, the park sat on one of the highest points in the city, and Pansy had come early to bag the perfect spot to view the fireworks from. She and Ginny had been first on the scene, Draco had arrived after Theo and Neville, and Harry had come with Ron and Hermione. The makeup of the group was not lost on Draco, but the view distracted him. The whole of London was laid out before them, the red-white blink of traffic, the golden glow of people’s homes, and the dark silhouette of Big Ben against it all; a shadow-puppet theater of a city. 

It was a cold night, though the snow had _miraculously_ cleared from the ground the day before. But the blankets Pansy had laid out all had heating charms in them, and they had opened the first bottle of champagne at ten so near-to-midnight they were all half-pissed and warm with it. Harry leaned against Draco’s side and even sober, that had brought heat and contentment to his bones, now he was tipsy and tingling with bubbles of champagne and excitement it lit something brighter in Draco’s chest.

He looked away from the vista. Harry was quiet beside him, the others were caught up in a spirited debate about whether or not they could get away with slipping some Weasley products into the Muggle firework show next year, and it felt like there would be no better moment than now. 

“Harry, I’ve been thinking of maybe... Staying home for a while. This year. Maybe all year.”

Harry turned to him, the glow of the city in his eyes. Their faces were very close. “Yeah?”

“It’s not just because of you.” It felt important to say.

“Not _just_ , so a bit then?”

Draco moved forward, drawn in by the smile on Harry’s face. “More than a bit, probably, if I’m honest.” That felt important, too.

The air between them was warm and full of the future, and Harry’s voice was low and satisfied. “Good.”

“Oh. Yes, well, it’s good you think that too.” Draco couldn’t keep the relief out of his voice, despite the last month of gentle ease. “But I’ve got an outstanding commitment; Copenhagen. It might last a month, maybe two.”

Harry’s eyebrows drew together, despite what were probably his best efforts not to look disappointed. His heart was on his sleeve, even now, when he ought to know better. Someone should look after it if he was going to insist on wearing it in the open. “Oh,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s a contract I signed last summer. Before I even decided to come back home for Christmas.” Draco paused, and realised he didn’t even feel nervous. He didn’t know what Harry would say, but that was okay. “You should—I mean, you could… Would you want to come with me?”

“Fuck.” Harry’s smile was bright, and dimpled, and pressed against Draco’s own irrepressible grin before he could even register that their friends were screaming around them, and that the boom of fireworks matched the drumming in his chest, and that it was a new year, already. “ _Yes_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello [on Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Prompt B](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/761408070617530368/769766025104195605/unknown.png)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


End file.
